


Maybe We Could Find New Ways to Fall Apart

by La_Temperanza



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Introspection, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:19:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Queen of Camelot is haunted by the memory of her former lady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe We Could Find New Ways to Fall Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted at [livejournal](http://latemperanza.livejournal.com/3673.html).

She remembers.

It’s hard not to, considering the memory of Morgana (and ultimately, her betrayal) is still fresh and raw as it haunts the walls of Camelot. It lingers in the hushed whispers of the council as they discuss the recovery effort, lurks in the shadows of the King’s eyes when he thinks no one is watching.

Even if the witch’s former quarters weren’t barred from entry, no one would dare approach them.

No one except the Queen.

Guinevere feels she has no right to ask anything more of Arthur, not after everything she has done, after everything they’ve gone through. But she prays, if he ever finds out where she has escaped to this afternoon, he will at least grant her this one indiscretion.

The door softly clicks shut behind her, and she surveys the room she could navigate with her eyes closed. Over the years, she has probably more time in these chambers than her father’s dwelling in the lower town, and there’s a fondness in her heart for the room that has become like a second home.

To her dismay, there’s already a thin sheen of dust settling on everything, and instinctively she moves to assume her maid duties before she realizes that is no longer required of her. It would be considered beneath her position now, and the revelation that she is what she always thought her lady would become causes her to sink down on the edge of the bed.

The tears are slow to come at first, but then trickle down hot and heavy, her hitched breath coming out in sobs as her fingers clench sheets that, even now, have the faint scent of jasmine and lavender. Images from days gone by begin to dance in her mind with no rhyme or reason, and she squeezes her eyes shut as she recalls everything.

Morgana’s kind and gentle smile that greeted her every morning, as bright and invigorating as the sun itself. Morgana making droll comments about visiting royalty that never failed to make her giggle, despite the scathing looks that might have been shot in their direction. Morgana going against Uther’s decree to rescue a mere handmaiden in order to do what was right, ignoring the difference in social statuses. Morgana clinging desperately to her hand before drifting off under quilted covers, fear of nightmares overriding the basic need for some semblance of sleep.

And finally, Morgana’s last words to her as they fought in the halls of the castle, their swords clashing as sharply as their tongues.

_‘What did I do to make you hate me so much?’_

_‘It's not what you did, it's what you're destined to do. I'm sorry Gwen, but I can never let that happen.’_

It’s not fair, for she could never find it in herself to hate Morgana. What she had done and what she had become, but never the woman Guinevere had once served. Never the woman Guinevere had once loved.

Because, after all, she remembers.


End file.
